


On the Other Side of Nowhere

by deinvati



Series: Dean/Sansa [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Inception (2010), Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fandoms Collide, Fluff, Happy Ending, The sequel that started it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati
Summary: What do you get the power couple who has everything?
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception), Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Sansa Stark/Dean Winchester
Series: Dean/Sansa [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057247
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	On the Other Side of Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Back when this whole thing started...  
> Tumblr meme: Make a list of your 15 favorite characters, any fandom, any media type. Then answer these prompts:
> 
> One of which was:  
> If Seven and Eight got married, what would Nine and Ten get them as wedding gifts?
> 
> 7\. Dean (Supernatural)  
> 8\. Sansa (GoT)  
> 9\. Arthur (Inception)  
> 10\. Natasha Romanov|Black Widow (Avengers)
> 
> What I mean by this is, I wrote this little one-shot first, and then I spent waaaay too long writing a 50k backstory so I could post it. So here you have it, my decent into ~~madness~~ fusing four fandoms together for no good reason. Enjoy!

Nat stroked the gorgeous carbon fiber crossbow with one appreciative finger before she sealed the box and wrapped it. She'd been coveting it for a long time, but could always get one for herself later. Right now, she needed a wedding gift, and, as much as she hated to admit it, this one was perfect for the couple. Or, at least, half of the couple.

"Clint! Come sign this card!"

"Why?" he called back from the couch. "Dean's going to know it's from you."

"Not necessarily!" she hollered back, stepping into her good heels even though Clint hated them. "It involves arrows, it could be from you too!"

"Weenie arrows," he muttered under his breath as he came into the bedroom.

"What was that?" Nat asked with her best glare, but he was unaffected, as usual.

He smiled smugly as he added his name with a flourish to the card she'd laid on the bed. "Nothing, dear. He's going to know it's from you."

"Mm hmm," she said. "Zip me, please."

She turned, revealing the long, unbroken expanse of her back, and Clint drew an appreciative finger down her spine, the same way she'd stroked the bow earlier. "Don't start anything you can't finish," she purred at him.

"I would never. I could finish you right here, right now." Clint slipped a finger under the bottom edge of her skirt with unerring accuracy and twanged one of her garter straps.

Nat turned in his arms. "We've got 20 minutes. Prove it," she challenged.

* * *

"Eames! Did you get anything for Dean and Sansa's wedding?"

Eames poked his head out of the ensuite bathroom. "No, darling, should I have?"

"Fuck," Arthur complained, pulling on his socks, "we're going to be late."

"Absolutely, right, just let me…" Eames murmured, leaning into Arthur and kissing along his jaw as he tried to tie his shoes.

Arthur tried not to exhale into the way it felt fucking amazing and shoved at Eames's shoulder instead. "Stop it. That's what got us into this mess to begin with. Now, come on."

Eames groaned and mock-staggered after him.

"He's your friend," Arthur scowled. "And besides, there need to be some normal people at this wedding."

"Us?!" Eames asked. "You think _we're_ going to be the normal people?"

"At this wedding? Yes. Yes, I absolutely think that. But Sansa deserves at least two people who aren't hunters to talk to about… non-hunter-y things."

"Very well, darling, but I absolutely insist you drink far too much and I have to take you home because you've been getting very handsy on the dance floor."

Arthur arched an eyebrow at him. "We'll see. Now hurry, we need to stop by Bed, Bath, & Beyond on our way there."

* * *

"Hey, Pigeon Hunter," came the low murmur from behind her, and Sansa stopped putting her earring in.

"Dean!" she hissed, "what are you doing in here? You're not supposed to see me today!"

The wedding magazines had been very clear: it was bad luck, and some people took that seriously. Sansa wasn't taking any chances with this world's customs.

"Like, at all? Doesn't that kinda defeat the purpose?"

His cute, boyish grin and the way he was looking at her made her melt inside, just like the first time. Just like every time. And before she could stop it, she was teary-eyed.

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean rushed to her, cradling her face in his rough hands. "What's this? Not changing your mind, are you?"

"No." She blinked quickly, leaning into his touch. "You know I'm not. I just…" She gave him a soft smile. "Sometimes you're too much. You're too much for me."

"Me?" he asked, not believing a word she was saying. "You obviously haven't seen what you look like right now. You look…" He pressed his lips together. "I would kiss the living daylights out of you if I didn't think you'd kill me for ruining your makeup." He ghosted the edge of one thumb over her bottom lip, careful not to smudge her lipstick, but she parted her lips and kissed it.

"It's kiss-proof," she whispered. "You know, for…the tradition."

"I love you, Pidge."

Everything stopped. He was holding his breath. Sansa could tell because she was holding hers, too. She held her breath and licked her lips and looked him in the eye. He didn't say those words lightly, and they resonated in her chest. The first and only other time he'd said it, she thought it might have slipped out. But that didn't stop it from being true.

"I know," she said, filling in the line he usually said, and he smiled at her, the beautiful, crinkle-eyed smile that she loved so well.

Because she did know it. It was why she was standing here in her magazine-recommended button-down shirt—a huge flannel borrowed from Dean's closet that morning— her hair in an updo which would have been considered elaborate even at home, and three pounds of makeup, expertly applied by the kind, chatty woman at the salon.

It had been a comforting process, having her hair done and makeup applied, and made her miss her ladies from Cersei's court. She'd gone without them helping her dress for so long, she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone else do her hair.

Her heavy white dress hung behind Dean on the door, a color he'd insisted on when she expressed her uncertainty. He'd said, "I am waaaayyyy less of a virgin than you, and no one is telling me what I can and can't wear. Besides, you look awesome in white." He'd known without her saying anything, that her past caught up to her sometimes in the night, in the dark, and the magazines were confusing on the appropriate color for technically your third, if you count the first two, wedding.

So yes. She knew he loved her, he showed it in so many ways. And she knew it didn't bother him—not her past, not how she got here or where she came from, or why she didn't want to go back.

"If I had known you were going to come through those stupid Tesseract portals, I'd have been knocking down Tony's door to sign up."

"Weren't you?" she teased him, because Tony still wasn't his favorite person, although she appreciated him more and more.

She remembered everything from that day, the day the rift had appeared and she had run toward it to get away from the horrors chasing her. And on this side of the rift, there was a man wielding a giant knife, who'd yanked her to safety and then later splashed her in the face with water. She'd stared at him, gaping and dripping, as he tersely muttered, "Just checking," and handed her a handkerchief.

He'd wanted her, she could see that. And she wanted a friendly face, after all this time, after all this fighting. She wanted someone to fight for her, with her, someone in her corner instead of it constantly being her against the world. This world was so different: everything moved so fast and everything lit up. But in a lot of ways, it was simpler too. At least in this world she always knew who the enemies were. And Dean made it simpler still because eventually, she just wanted him.

And now, on their wedding day, he was standing in her room, looking at her like she was the world. He kissed her, sweetly, careful of her hair and makeup, and Sansa couldn't have cared less about either. Who did he think this was for? She threw her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, pressing her tongue against his and listening for his answering groan.

"Ahem."

Dean stiffened at the sound of Sam's voice, still embarrassed about kissing in front of his brother.

"Hello, Sam," Sansa murmured, releasing Dean but not letting him spring away. "Just practicing."

Dean's eyes twinkled with proud approval and Sam grinned at her.

"You might want to save that version for later. Bit racy for church."

"I still can't believe we are getting married in a church," Dean grumbled, predictably, and Sansa knew she had gotten rid of the nerves he'd come in here with. Dean wasn't quite so taciturn as he liked to think.

"It's tradition," Sansa insisted and returned to the vanity she'd been perched at when Dean interrupted. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a very important engagement that I cannot be late for."

She got identical smiles from the pair who insisted they looked "nothing alike", and they closed the door behind them.

* * *

The ceremony was beautiful, although she didn't remember a single thing Sam said as he helped them exchange vows. Dean looked so dashing in his black and white outfit, and even though they had very few of the same traditions here, rings was one of them. She watched hers sparkle, deep purple amethysts that caught the sun.

"You sure you don't want a diamond, Pidge?" Dean had asked, uncertain if it was some kind of test.

She'd shaken her head happily, watching the gems dance, loving their cheery glow. "Purple stones are my favorite part of weddings in Westeros."

They sat at the end of a small reception hall, and Dean held her hand under the table. She tried not to think of her sister or brothers. She tried not to think of the way her mother would have braided her hair, or the way her father would have really, really liked Dean. She tried not to cry because she was so very, very happy, and Dean wouldn't understand the mix of happiness and sadness inside her. Then, he stood up.

"I want to thank you all for coming today," he addressed them. The crowd of faces included hunters and superheroes, the famous and the infamous, but everyone was smiling at them. "We appreciate every one of you who made time for us, we know you're busy." He cleared his throat. "For people like me, and Sam, and probably a lot of you, there's not a lot of times where we get to do the normal stuff. We have a lot of stories but they aren't really the kind you fill photo albums with. And I know that too often, the ties we created to other people get ripped away, and sometimes, well, sometimes that makes the normal stuff hard. So I want you all to know that I'm…" he paused to clear his throat, " _We_ ," he corrected, "Sansa and I, are grateful that you are here. Very grateful. And I want to raise a toast for those who couldn't be here today."

He reached down for his champagne and grasped Sansa's hand, pulling her to stand next to him. "For Sansa's people," he said, glass in the air, and Sansa raised hers too, hesitantly. "And for mine. For all the people who would have been here if they'd could, but who are a part of us, always."

"Cheers!" the crowd of people called out in front of them, and Sansa didn't let Dean take a drink because she was busy kissing him, sloshing champagne down the back of his outfit and thinking, " _Okay, maybe he understands_."

* * *

Dean sat in the war room of the bunker the next morning, his wife, his _wife_ , sitting in the chair next to him, surveying the room regally. Their small group of friends surrounded the table, covering the map in the middle with breakfast plates, coffee cups, and conversation. He reached over to tug a strand of her long hair, still mussed from the bobby pins he'd helped her pull out last night. Or was that early this morning?

Sansa leaned over, cool as a cucumber, and tugged his short hair right back. Then she went back to her tea.

He grinned into the coffee she'd made him and stifled a yawn. Why was this a tradition again? Sansa had been so insistent that they follow the American traditions because they were in America, which of course meant Dean had to look them up. And apparently "gift opening and brunch the morning after" was a thing. A stupid thing, but still a thing.

"Thank you all for being here," she said softly, her charming accent carrying in the small room. Eames muttered a reply around one of the scones Sansa had made, even though she had confessed they weren't very fresh— made two days ago and they tasted goddamn amazing— and she had to ask Sam to help her because she had never made them before. She seriously thought these were flaws.

"As Dean said, we appreciate everyone making time for us, and this means a lot."

She wasn't sure what to say, he could tell, so he blustered his way over her. "Alright, stop. If I have to help with the thank you cards, I want them to be surprised by what they say."

He pulled the first box towards them from where Sam had dumped them the night before, and unceremoniously ripped open the wrapping. The cardboard box was semi-heavy and he slit the tape with his pocket knife.

Inside was the most beautiful crossbow he'd ever seen. Black, sleek, lightweight, gorgeous.

"Woah, Nat," he breathed, hefting it with reverence.

"It's from Clint, too!" she said, and Clint snorted beside her. Dean barely heard them. It was compact, fit against your shoulder like a rifle, and had a scope on it. A god-damned scope. It was heavenly.

"There's more in the box," Nat said, sounding embarrassed and Dean grinned at her. He set aside the bow and pulled out a variety of bolts, some silver-tipped, a few with red ends, a few with onyx ends. Sansa drew a finger over those. He finally fished out a set of throwing knives with an impressive edge.

"Weapons!" he announced, holding them up. "Best wedding present ever!"

The group around them laughed and Dean grinned at Sam in the corner. Sam grinned back, wide and happy, and Dean felt something loosen in his chest.

"Alright! Next present!"

Dean pulled forward box after box of lore, books, amulets, and more weapons, opening them with relish, and Sam's eyes were wide.

"Jeeze, where was all this when we were fighting the entire world?"

Dean laughed at the hoard. "Next invasion, Sam, you're getting hitched."

Through it all, his beautiful wife smiled pleasantly and made appreciative noises, but Dean felt worse the closer they got to the bottom of the pile. When the last one was open, he looked at the scattered testament to his hunter life and felt like he'd let Sansa down. He was grateful for every gift, truly. Some of this stuff had come from years of hunting, and some of it had been dearly parted with, he knew. There had even been a framed picture of Bobby from a hunter who'd known him when, and it was something he'd treasure forever. But Sansa…

"Pidge…" he said, turning to her, but was interrupted by a throat clearing.

"Ah, sorry, I didn't see a card basket." Arthur was standing and holding an envelope out to them over the table and he looked distinctly uncomfortable. Dean figured that had to be a first.

"Hey, thanks man," Dean offered with a quick handshake. He leaned across the table to grasp Eames's hand too. "Glad you guys could make it."

"Not a problem, mate," Eames offered with an easy grin and relaxed back in his chair. He couldn't have been more comfortable in his own house.

Dean went to open the envelope, but Arthur's voice stopped him again.

"It's actually more for your wife," Arthur offered.

Dean glanced at Sansa who looked surprised. Arthur had always been closer to her than him, but he just thought that was because he'd always taken the time to get caught up with Eames whenever they saw them.

He passed her the envelope.

"Thank you," she said quietly before opening it. Inside was a gift card to Bed, Bath & Beyond. Dean blinked at the amount scribbled on the back. He looked at Eames and Arthur.

"You know," Arthur shrugged, "for the normal things."

Sansa, who probably had a pretty good idea of what she was holding, but probably had not quite grasped how _much_ she was holding, set it on the table reverently and stood. She walked around the table and when she reached Arthur, she gave him a fierce hug. Dean stood also and exchanged a handshake and backslap with Eames.

"That's… uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, "very generous of you guys."

Eames shrugged. "We do alright. And you'll notice we didn't give you an actual gift. So really we got you an errand. You're welcome."

Dean laughed. "That's an awesome errand. We're excited to run that errand, lemme tell ya."

"What's an 'errand?'" Sansa asked quietly.

Dean grabbed her around the waist and reveled in her squawk. "Excuse me, folks, I need to explain to my wife what an errand is. You can see yourselves out, right?" He bent and caught Sansa behind the knees, swooping her into his arms. She squeaked, clinging to his neck and burying her face.

"Dean!"

He ignored her embarrassment but chuckled when he heard Arthur murmur, "She is going to be very confused about errands," and Eames's responding, "Didn't we have errands to run too, darling?"


End file.
